


Storms in Time

by duncant



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Social Anxiety, Tumblr Prompt, Valar - Freeform, purposeful tense switching by námo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6521020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duncant/pseuds/duncant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's the future, she the past. There's something he can't share - something that worries him, something he's terribly afraid of, and she can only offer what love she holds for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storms in Time

Vairë knew the reason they had been called to Mâchananaškad. All the Valar did, though the secret had been kept as well as possible from Maiar and Eldar alike. It was a heavy burden they had been set upon, a deep, blackened thing. Not since Melkor's trial had there been a council as grim. She knew that best of all, all the details of it bare in her mind. History was hers, even the bleak bits.

Beside her, Námo walked silently, eyes distant. By itself, this wasn't particularly unusual  - where she was the past, he was the future. They both could lose themselves in it, especially during times such as these. She gently took his hand in hers, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles as much to comfort him as to ground herself. They wove through the impromptu crowd of Valar in the center of the Mâchananaškad -- Tulkas, Varda, Oromë, and others, it seemed -- and took their seats.

"You're alright?" he asked, his voice smooth and clear.

"Yes, I'm -- yes. You know how it is," Vairë replied, watching as the crowd dispersed and Manwë took his seat. The Ring of Doom, the Eldar called it. It was a beautiful place, for which Aulë had spared no expense. The pristine marble floor glistened in the light of Laurelin, the fifteen thrones bright and resplendent in the soft gold light. It was a place of counsel and discussion, of debate and agreements reached. It was, for all its serious argument, one of Vairë's most cherished places in Arda.

Manwë's eyes swept over the assembled fourteen - only one throne, directly opposite the King's own, was empty. It was simpler than the others, a thing of iron and steel as opposed to silver and gold. If Manwë was first among equals, then Melkor had set himself to be last among them. He hoped to earn their trust once again, and perhaps that was why his was the barest seat. But perhaps not - all that mattered at the moment was that he was not here for one of, if not the, most important meetings of the Age. Vairë sighed quietly, resigned.

"The Valar are called to council," Manwë started, with the solid tone of ritual, "on the matter of the Noldo Curufinwë's threats against his half-brother Nolofinwë, in deed and word."

He paused for a long moment, looking at each Vala as if for the first time. There was a tired cast to his face, a deep grey set as a cloud over his eyes. "Has anyone any statement before I call on Vairë?" he asked, dropping the formality of his traditional opening statement. Their council had begun, but no one raised their voice. Realizing no one would speak, Manwë gestured towards her silently.

Vairë rose, clearing her mind as she walked to the center of the floor without word. This was also ritual, in a way - she and Námo shared similar restrictions, given the nature of their existence, and Manwë was the one who could pull the truth of the past out of her with but a word. The fëar and other Ainur could make their guesses based on presented history, but the tapestries made no conclusions. Unlike Námo, however, she _was_ allowed to speak to those lost souls in the Halls, telling them if their thoughts on their lives were right or wrong when they asked her. She was not a fountain of information, but she was there to confirm.

She closed her eyes, still as stone, and turned her mind to the past. It was as simple as breathing - her physical surroundings fell away as she focused fully on the past, the threads of time solidifying about her. They were always there, at the edges of her mind, the history of things and souls spinning about them as clear as words on a page. They formed a beautiful song, distracting and elegant - even the ones drenched in sorrow or anger or hate were perfect pieces of the past, flawless threads of music.

"What was said between the half brothers Curufinwë and Nolofinwë, Weaver?"

" _King and Father, wilt thou not restrain the pride of our brother, Curufinwë, who is called the Spirit of Fire, all too truly? By what right does he speak for all our people, as if he were King? Thou it was who long ago spoke before the Quendi, bidding them to accept the summons of the Valar to Aman. Thou it was that led the Noldor upon the long road through the perils of Middle-earth to the light of Eldamar. If thou dost not now repent of it, two sons at least thou hast to honor thy words_ ," the Weaver said, her voice echoing Nolofinwë's - only to switch and grow harsh in the manner of Curufinwë.

"S _o it is, even as I guessed. My half-brother would be before me with my father, in this as in all other matters. Get thee gone, and take thy due place!_ " Vairë paused, her voice high and melodic even in the act of repetition. "There's a sword, pressed to Nolofinwë's throat. It drew only a scant few drops of blood, but it's tight against his skin and Curufinwë says, ' _See, half-brother? This is sharper than thy tongue. Try but once more to usurp my place and the love of my father, and maybe it will rid the Noldor of one who seeks to be master of thralls'_."

She fell silent, opening her eyes and refocusing herself with ease. Eyes fell to Manwë, as his was the next part in their ritual. The Valar knew what had occurred, now was the time to discuss it. Vairë turned to take her seat, though a subtle frown came across her face at seeing Námo. It was gone before any could notice, but the concern it represented remained.

Manwë opened the floor to discussion, and Varda, unsurprisingly, was the first to speak. Vairë respected the way she spoke and argued, but not even the Queen of the Valar could hold her attention at the moment.  She expected some of Námo's distance and anxiety; he seldom spoke in the Ring save to speak his Dooms. On the occasion he did, however, his hands shook and it was mostly effort of will and the requirement placed on him that kept him speaking. Even seated next to her, he was ill at ease. He was quite good at _appearing_ confident and calm, striking features still as unbroken water. Only Irmo and Nienna knew the extent of their brother's state, even after all this time. But the sight of him next to her was far from the norm, with silver eyes almost completely pupil-less. The usual bright grey was darkened, masked and clouded. Námo was still as a pillar, firm and expressionless, but Vairë knew better.

Vairë's mind turned back to the floor as Varda paced about the tiled circle, speaking in her firm, yet quiet manner. She worried about her husband, but she also had to focus on the matter at hand. It was vital and imperative, necessary and heart wrenching. Violence had come to Valinor in quick words and keen steel, and it rested with them to handle it. Varda raised excellent points - it was an act of violence, it was brother turned against brother, it had no precedent in anything they had ever experienced. Vairë rested her hand lightly on Námo's as she listened, reaching out with her thought to send him a quiet song of care.

Her attention was called away from Námo when Tulkas rose with a huff. He spoke only briefly as Varda sat, citing the need for decisive action in the matter. Yet it was Eonwë making his way to his lord that drew her attention, the thick-shouldered warrior in the ring barely in her mind. _Ah, of course - the Noldo himself,_ she thought, shifting in her seat slightly. A deep silence fell over the Ring as Eonwë murmured in Manwë's ear, the thirteen Valar balancing on a precipice of nerves. Many would have made the same assumption she had, and all knew the task set before them when Curufinwë did show himself.

Manwë nodded, thanking his herald quietly before speaking, "Curufinwë and Nolofinwë will both be brought forward to testify to their actions and their motivations, my friends. I will bring them both in now, if there are no objections...?"

"One, Manwë," Vairë said quickly, standing. "If I might request a break in council...no more than a half hour?"

He waved a hand, and with the simple gesture, the Valar broke off into groups for private discussion. It wasn't an uncommon thing, especially when the subject was heavy. Not a few heads nodded appreciatively in her direction, and she took a moment to return them. They all needed time to process and make their own conclusions, and the break would be good for all.

Námo offered his arm as he stood, speaking softly, "You won't - _didn't_ have to do that."

She took his arm, the shimmering white fabric familiar as he was. He was shaking, she noted, but she said nothing of it. "I didn't _have_ to, but I did. Who says I don't just want the chance to talk about the finer points of the idea of threat versus action?," she replied, smiling at her joke, "But in all seriousness, Námo...you haven't looked like this since -"

"I know," he interjected, quiet and grey. Conversation lulled as they took the steps down from the Ring's main debate area, walking down one of the many winding paths around it. It was one of the benefits to Aulë's open pavilion design - Yavanna's brilliant flowers and strong oaks surrounded the Mâchananaškad, and a thin river stretched lazily around the area. After a few minutes of walking they reached a bend in the river, dotted with pale grey stones and bright yellow flowers, no larger than a child's hand. It was beautiful in the way only gentle things can be. Crisp, clear - river water bubbled over stones, proud and friendly. Birds sung melodically from within the tree, their notes a simple pleasure.

Vairë sat down on one of the larger stones, the pale silver of her dress stark against the deep green grass. Námo sat across from her, as the rock was large enough for it, and folded his hands in his lap. He looked calmer, now - his eyes were slightly more focused, and while the heavy haze still hung over him, it was far from what it had been not ten minutes ago.  He sighed quietly, tension leaving his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Vairë, I -"

"You don't need to apologize, dear," she replied, taking his hands in hers, "I know how it is, getting lost in it..."

There was a difference between them she left unsaid, for she was certain he knew. She was history, but the past was known to many. He was the future, but he could not share it.

"It's just...it was..." he said, trailing off, "There's a storm coming...Vairë, there's so much..."

"It's okay, Námo," she murmured, rubbing her thumb along his knuckles, "You don't need to talk about it."

"You had - you _will_ , you'll not..." he continued, stopping himself short. "Had only the songs in my mind been as fair as your songs of old, maybe then I would not -"  


"Easy, love, easy..." she soothed, letting go of his hand to brush strands of black hair out of his face. He was crying, she noticed - thin tears spilling from eyes aching with burden. She wanted to hold him, to take him home where he would feel safe, to help him how she could. But they had precious little time, and the Ring would not pause for the Doomsman. Perhaps Manwë would, had he known, but Curufinwë? The situation itself? No, that was not an option, however much she may want it to be.

It was then Vairë began to sing. Soft, gentle, quiet - nothing like their songs in Eru's Halls, but powerful nonetheless. It was a wordless song of joy, a song of bright colors and laughter among friends. Of hope, of light, of beauty. She sang steadily, never faltering in her song - she had never sung this before, but it came to her easily. They were Ainur - they who were made from song, they who sung the world into being at Eru's call. Her song was comfort, and love, and it was for Námo alone.

She fell silent when Námo squeezed her hand, a small smile on his face. His eyes were clearer when he spoke, silver and shining, "Thank you, Vairë. I...I fear for us, but there is good there. I am - _was_ a fool to forget that. "

"I'm glad to help, especially if it made you feel any better," she replied, standing. "But you're no fool. I often think of the war at Utumno, and...well, there is darkness embedded in time, but I will be there with you when it comes."

He would know that, she believed. In whatever future he saw, she knew he would find her there beside him for the worst of it. There were harsh times coming, that she knew - if Curufinwë's actions didn't signal that, then nothing would.

Vairë kissed him after he stood, running a hand through his hair. It was over altogether too soon, a brief reminder of comfort. He rested his forehead on hers for a moment, humming contentedly. He still did not look his usual self, but that would come with more time, she supposed. After the rest of the discussion they would leave for the Halls, and then, hopefully, he wouldn't look quite so distant around the edges. But he was calmer and more comfortable now than he had been, and that small progress was enough for now. She kissed him again before drawing away, linking her arm in his. It wasn’t shaking.   "We..."

"...need to get back, I know," he finished for her, smiling faintly. "I think I'm able to handle more of this, assuming no one gives four hour speeches again."

She laughed, a sound light and free, "It was only once, love, and you know Manwë deserved it."

"There are few people who _deserve_ the sharp side of your tongue, though perhaps he did bring it upon himself," he said, gently amused.

"Oh, come now. Let's get back - you have my word, no speeches over an hour today, how about that?"

"Perfect," he replied, laughing quietly. His laugh was all she needed to smile - she had helped the man she loved, however slightly, and that was what mattered, at the end of it all. No matter how grave the situation with the Noldor, they had this to fall back on when all was quiet and the Arda paused for breath.


End file.
